I bought a 9 lb Boston butt at $0.99/lb yesterday. Bone in. I had the knife necessary to cut this giant Hunk O’Meat. And tonight I proceeded to do just that. I made 2 roasts and had some meat perfect for slow cooker “barbeque” or Cuban roast pork. I feel like Mr. Savvy Consumer. I’m not buying 50 lb sacks of rice just yet and probably won’t. Still it’s kinda cool to hack that muscle into smaller pieces.
On the hunt for a pallet load of toilet paper next.
29 March 2019, J’s brother died, at age 72, of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, or Lou Gehrig’s Disease. The disease was determined to be related to his combat service in Vietnam, fifty years earlier.
Today, on the first anniversary of his passing, we visited the grave of Corporal Michael F. Folland, Medal Of Honor, a Richmonder, who served with my brother-in-law. Corporal Folland covered an exploding grenade with his body, smothering the blast while sacrificing his own life. All pretty tragic, sobering events, but this is the nature of war.
His grave is in a small, shady, serene cemetery on a country road about 45 minutes from our home. His comrades in death include a sizable number of Civil War dead, some with “unknown”, as the only name on the marker.
Corporal Folland did not have the chance to grow old like my brother-in-law, or have children or grandchildren. His passing was among the thousands of small tragedies, South Vietnamese, South Korean, Australian, New Zealanders, and American, who died to stop the spread of Communism in Southeast Asia.
I’m watching a Carnival Celebration somewhere in The Northern Hemisphere. I think it is Spain, maybe Portugal. It turns out it is Portugal, the city of Ovar. There are young women in the parade, all under 20. There is a creepy sexualization about how these girls look, as if the next Jeffrey Epstein is on the sidelines, recruiting. There is a pre-coronavirus intimacy among both the parade participants and the spectators. Hard to believe this was just a month ago.
I woke up almost 2 hours ago. When I wake up I tell myself, “I don’t want to be sleeping.” I am missing something.
Maybe my insomnia is really boredom, but no, it’s not that. J and I are just not connecting. There is love between us, shared interests and values, but we are going about the marriage as separate entities. If we intersect at any point it is almost serendipitous. Last night, she wanted her dinner in bed, as if Jeopardy cannot be missed.
It is Salad Season. I know. There is no specific Salad Season. But I bought a Bag O’ Salad for 99 cents yesterday. The store had this pear & gorgonzola salad “kit” that they were touting. I read the contents. I had everything I needed to fix this, including gorgonzola cheese crumbles. So I made my version. I had cold asparagus spears, hearts of palm, Roma tomatoes, along with the pear. It is a marvelous blend of flavors. J liked it. I served it with grilled salmon with lemon, dill, and tarragon. The salad was a perfect complement to the fish.
On the COVID-19 front, #1 Son is recovering , but he is still tired. His joint pain has moved to his knees and below. The virus is some serious stuff. If you had told me on January 1 that my son and a very close friend would both have this disease, I would not have believed you. Or that there would be four fatalities in a nursing home, just a kilometer from our house, I would have been equally incredulous.
So it was a good day. Hope your days were good too.
It is 03:40 Eastern North America. I went to bed early, awoke early. I resolved to throw away some accumulated rubbish. But first I need to post. J is on paid quarantine leave. She is a little disoriented, wondering what having days and days of unstructured time is like.
I’m hoping for a relationship/intimacy reset. Maybe we could have one of those close relationships where we do stuff together. I’m beginning to feel tears well up, not that I will cry. I read stories where partners do things, but we operate in separate orbits.
Time to drink the coffee I made, starting tossing the trash out. More later.
04:40 AM. I did throw some stuff out. I feel lonely and lost again. I’m worried about #1 Son. He should get through this virus OK. Still I can’t help but worry. He tends to minimize his illnesses. Not that he has that many.
I just feel as if there is nothing to look forward to.